


What Feels Right (Isn't Always Right)

by Calacious



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tig and Juice are stuck working a job together. It's long and Tig is just looking to break up the monotony a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Isn't What it Seems

**Author's Note:**

> References made to, "Patch Over," episode 4 of season 1, and events in the first four seasons of the show. Written for the hc_bingo square, cuddling. 
> 
> Just getting around to posting this here.

Tig doesn't want to be here, at all, least of all with Juice. The kid's strange, and always smiling, acting like he wants to be best buds or something. It's like having a big, dumb puppy following him around whenever they work together.

This time is no different, and he wonders if he should restate his offer to let the kid blow him. See if Juice has changed his mind or not, because while he's not a homo, it's been a real long time since Tig's been in the company of a woman (a week is just too damn long to go without some pussy), and, in spite of Juice's inability to talk like a normal human being, the man's mouth looks like it'd be real good at giving head. Cheeks wide, throat long and slender, and fuck all if that doesn't get Tig hard just thinking about it.

He glances sidelong at Juice (and that's another thing wrong with this job, no bikes, which just proves to him that Jax is not finished punishing him yet), wonders if the younger man would enjoy having a brother's dick in his mouth. If he knows how to suck and fondle and lick his way along another man's dick.

"What?" Juice looks cross.

"Just wondering if you'd like me to dip my balls in your mouth, because the offer still stands." Tig's dick twitches in anticipation, and he wonders if Juice notices.

The kid swallows nervously, his Adam's apple bobs up and down, and Tig can almost feel the kid's throat tightening around his dick, warm, wet and slick. He tells himself that it's only because he hasn't had a woman in a such long time, and that his desire to fuck Juice's face has nothing to do with the way the younger man is looking at him, his too-long eyelashes fluttering over brown, doe eyes that really have no right being on a man's face.

"No thanks," Juice says, and he mumbles something Tig can't hear, before resuming his slouch against the door of the truck.

"Come on," Tig cajoles, only half in jest, "I'll make it worth your while." He rubs his fingers together indicating that he'd be willing to pay for Juice to suck him off.

Juice pales and shirks even further away. 'Any further and he'll fall right out the door,' Tig thinks.

"I don't want your money."

Tig shrugs. "Suit yourself." He slides a hand along the seat until he's touching the outer edge of Juice's thigh, feels the younger man tense and it gives him a thrill he hasn't felt in a long time.

By the end of the night, Tig vows that he'll have Juice's mouth on his dick, sucking him off, and the kid will love every minute of it. He won't even have to use a condom if he plays his cards right.

"Stop it Tig." The kid's voice is wary, contains a small amount of fear that makes Tig grin.

Instead of stopping, Tig leans over and rubs his hand along Juice's thigh, squeezing just a little. He feels Juice squirm in response, and the thought of the boy sprawled out on some anonymous hotel bed and writhing beneath him, makes him hard.

Tig isn't gay, not by a long shot, but there's something appealing about Juice. Maybe it's just because he's gone so long without getting any, or maybe it's because Juice is Latino, and Tig's got a thing for brown skin, and big, brown eyes that look like they could swallow up the whole world.

"Come-on, why not, it's not like we're going to get any tail tonight."

Tig squeezes Juice's thigh and his dick jerks a little when the younger man flinches.

"Come on, cut it out." Juice's voice is so soft that Tig wonders if he imagined the words being spoken.

Tig contents himself with teasing the younger man who grows more sullen and quiet. Tig ignores the fact that Juice seems to curl in on himself. He's got to entertain himself somehow, after all.

It isn't until he's manhandling a slightly inebriated Juice into the hotel room, the boy falling to his knees and working the zipper of Tig's jeans down with his teeth, as soon as the door's shut, and the lock is secured, that everything begins to click into place for Tig. Juice tugs on Tig's jeans until they fall below his waist and then he pushes him onto the bed.

"Pushy little bastard," Tig grumbles, but he's in no position to complain. He's getting what he wanted, and he hasn't even had to do any coaxing, just had to get Juice a little drunk, and the boy turned into a slut.

And, though Tig understands why Juice had withdrawn from him earlier, why he'd balked and blanched at the offer of money for a blow job, Tig isn't about to push the kid off now that he's on his knees in front of him and licking his lips. Because he's hard and if he doesn't let Juice do what the boy is practically begging him to do, Tig will suffer for it.

Juice grips the base of Tig's dick with his left hand, rubs his right thumb over the head of it, and then looks up at Tig through his eyelashes. His cheeks are flushed from too much alcohol, and his eyes lack the carefree look that Tig's come to associate with Juice, but he palms the kid's skull, wishing for hair that he could dig his fingers into and pull.

Tig feels powerful, like he's got the world at his fingertips. "Blow me."

Tig doesn't need to hear Juice's sob story, about how, as a young teen, he'd turned tricks on the street, pleasured men old enough to be his grandfather with his mouth, because what he's doing to Tig is evidence enough to prove the truth of it. Juice's teeth scrape along the underside of Tig's penis, and he arches his back, his toes curl into the boots he's still wearing.

"Let me see your eyes," Tig commands a little breathlessly when Juice looks down.

The younger man complies. His eyes are bloodshot and darkened with something akin to anger. Juice's lips are wrapped around the head of Tig's dick, and he's fingering Tig's balls when he begins sucking.

Juice alternates between sucking and licking, getting Tig harder than he can ever recall being, and then the boy begins to swallow him, working him deep into his throat, Adam's apple bobbling. Juice's throat undulates, and he chokes around the size of Tig's girth as it swells in the tight, hot, wet space.

Tig can't keep himself from pushing himself even further down Juice's throat, causing the younger man to gag. Tig's hips jerk forward and then he's fucking Juice's mouth at a breakneck speed.

The sound of Juice choking only makes Tig move faster and he doesn't care that Juice can't breathe right now, that the boy's lips are a pale shade of blue. Tig has a hand on the boy's sweaty head to anchor himself as he cries out and releases into Juice's mouth, riding out his orgasm until he's spent and slack, and then he pulls out, watches as Juice swallows his cum and then takes a shuddering breath, wheezing on the intake like Bobby's asthmatic kid.

Juice doesn't say anything, just cleans Tig off with his tongue, and then stands and walks, like he's on autopilot, to the bathroom. He doesn't even slam the door, and, though Juice has the water running in the sink, Tig can hear the younger man retching.

When Juice leaves the bathroom after showering, Tig watches the younger man move across the room. His movements are slow and stiff, like he'd been fucked in the ass rather than his mouth, and Tig chuckles when it finally dawns on Juice that there's only one bed in the hotel room. It's a queen-sized bed, and Tig doesn't mind sharing.

Tig pulls the comforter aside, pats the mattress and gestures for Juice to get into bed. Juice hesitates, eyes him warily before climbing in and staying as close to the edge of the bed as he can possibly get without falling off of it.

Tig catches a glimpse of Juice's face before the boy turns his back on him, and he wonders if any of the fat, old men who'd paid piddling amounts of money to fuck the kid when he was younger had ever seen the aftermath of their handiwork. If any of them had ever stayed long enough to witness the beauty of the bruising around the kid's mouth, the plump lips, swollen and discolored from being so brutally used, and the shame lingering in the boy's eyes. He pities them the loss of it, because it completes the entire act, makes it all the more real.

Juice looks thoroughly ravished, and Tig takes pride in having done that to the other man. If he hadn't witnessed the visible aftereffects, a painting of his work upon Juice's face, he wouldn't have anything to remember it by.

"Relax, I'm not going to jump you," Tig says, though the thought has occurred to him.

Now that he's been inside of Juice's mouth, Tig wonders what it would be like to be _inside_ of the younger man. What it would be like to have Juice writhing beneath him, panting and groaning and crying out in pleasure and pain.

Juice doesn't respond, just hugs his knees to himself. It's like the younger man's a cat, all flexible and curvy, back bent in an elegant arch.

Sated, Tig falls asleep, only to be wakened well before dawn by the sound of whimpers. At first he ignores it. It's not his fault that Juice is having a nightmare or whatever. He turns on his side and pulls the pillow over his head, trying to drown out the sounds that Juice is making. But Juice's quiet crying reaches through the barrier of his pillow, and, in spite of his resolve to turn his back on Juice and whatever demons he's facing in sleep, it grates on his nerves and Tig tosses the pillow to the foot of the bed.

He moves to wake the kid, but Juice's mumbled words, "No, stop, leave me alone Tony," give him pause. Tig doesn't know any Tony, and he wonders who the hell the man is, and why Juice sounds like a little kid.

"Wake up," Tig says, shaking Juice by the shoulder.

He has to duck to avoid being clouted by the other man, who after a little more shaking, sits up straight in bed, waking with a start. Tig moves carefully out of the way as Juice gasps for air, his eyes darting from one dark corner of the room to the other as though fearful that a bogyman, or maybe Tony, is going to come lurching out of the darkness at him.

"You awake now?" Tig asks when Juice's gaze settles on one spot – the corner of the room kitty-corner from where Juice is sitting on the bed. He takes little solace in the slow nod that his question garners from the younger man.

Tig waits for Juice to break the silence, but the young man says nothing, just continues to stare off in the corner as though he's terrified to move. "Who's Tony?"

"Mom's boyfriend," Juice answers automatically, his eyes remain centered on the corner. The lack of inflection in the kid's voice causes the hair on the back of Tig's neck to stand up.

"Why're you having nightmares about your Mom's boyfriend?" Tig has an inkling as to why Juice was dreaming about the man, but he doesn't want his earlier assessment of Juice to be wrong, he wants it to be nothing more than Tony knocking Juice around a little when he was younger.

"I thought he was here," Juice says, and to Tig's relief he shifts his gaze to look at him. Juice's forehead furrows in confusion and his eyes aren't the eyes of a grown man, but of a young child.

"Why'd you think that?"

"He was…" Juice stops talking, drops his eyes to look at the comforter that he's rubbing between his forefingers and thumb. "He was here, I felt him." Juice takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. "He was touching me. He likes little boys," Juice adds, and he looks at Tig out of the corner of his eyes and bites his bottom lip as though nervous that Tig won't believe him.

"How long was he with your mother?"

"Two years," Juice says in little more than a whisper, "Mom kicked him out when she caught us together."

And all of it clicks into place for Tig: the way Juice had not given him a straight answer the first time he'd joked about 'bonding' with him through engaging in oral sex; the way he'd avoided being alone with Tig; and even his actions tonight – getting drunk and then doing what Tig had prodded him into throughout the drive to this bum-fuck town. Everything had pointed toward sexual abuse, just like with Chucky, except Juice hid it better.

Tig rubs the back of his head. "Shit."

Without asking permission, he pulls Juice to himself, and waits until the younger man begins to relax in his arms, before leaning back against the headboard. Juice's eyes lose some of their fear as exhaustion begins to pull him under, and once again Tig wishes the kid had some hair as he starts to massage Juice's scalp. His little girls had always liked it when he played with their hair, it had often lulled them to sleep, and that's what he's aiming for now – to soothe Juice into slumber, to make up for his earlier thoughts.

"Shh," Tig says when Juice opens his mouth.

The younger man's head is cradled against his chest and Juice's eyes are slowly losing the battle to stay open. Like this he looks vulnerable and younger than his twenty-something years, and it makes Tig feel like a complete ass for what he's done, but he can't undo any of it.

"Go to sleep."

Juice looks like he wants to protest, but the combination of everything that's happened tonight – from Tig's taunting, to getting drunk, to the oral sex, followed by the nightmare – and Tig's scalp massage prove to be too much for him. His eyelids flicker and then don't open again until well after the sun's risen. Sleep doesn't come as quickly for Tig.

Tig's a man who doesn't openly wear his heart on his sleeve, and he doesn't confide in many people, but he is a man who is well-versed in regret. And what happened here tonight, with Juice, while he can't quite bring himself to be unhappy about the sex, because it was good, he does hate the way that he pushed the other man into it, and that he was the cause of Juice's nightmare – Tony stalking him in his memories, taking advantage of him all over again.

The warmth radiating between their bodies isn't overbearing, it's comfortable. Tig isn't exactly the type to cuddle, but even he'd be hard-pressed to come up with an alternative term to explain how he's cradling Juice in his arms. When sleep finally does claim him, Tig is only aware of one thing, that Juice's weight – head resting against his chest – feels right.


	2. Working to Make it Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice won't talk to Tig, so Tig calls in the Calvary - Chibs.

Chibs tosses his rag down on the workbench and goes after Juice, because the kid's been acting off again. He's a little jumpier than he was when everything with Miles went down, and that is a scary thought.

The sound of quiet arguing stops him before he reaches the corner, and he shamelessly listens in on Juice and Tig, hoping to gain some insight as to what's going on with Juice.

"Tig, just leave it. What happened, happened."

"So, is that a yes, or a no?"

"For the hundredth time, just leave me the hell alone. Don't even know why I told you about all that shit in the first place."

"You sleeping okay at night?"

Chibs frowns, because that question has no business coming out of Tig's mouth, especially not all concerned sounding like it is, and definitely not directed at Juice. Tig isn't exactly Juice's biggest fan.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just stop asking me about Tony, okay?"

"Just want to make sure the bastard pays for what he did to you," Tig says, and now Chibs is more than just mildly curious about what is going on between the two brothers.

"And I just want to go on forgetting that it ever happened." Juice sounds tired, older than his twenty-something years. Older than any of them.

"What if he's doing it to other boys?" Tig's voice is hard.

"Like what you did to me?" Juice's voice is cut off with a strangled sort of cry and Chibs rounds the corner, choosing to make himself known. He doesn't know what to make of what he sees - Tig pinning Juice to the wall with an arm to the younger man's throat.

"Hey," Chibs shouts, and he pries Tig off of Juice, wondering what the hell had happened between the two men to cause the attack.

"What we did, together, was nothing like what that monster did to you." Tig, seemingly unaware of Chibs, even though he's got Tig in a chokehold, is still going after Juice.

Chibs doesn't know what to make of the heated exchange, and he's not about to let go of Tig when it looks like the man's about to tear Juice apart.

"Hey!" He shakes Tig a little as he shouts in the man's ear. "That's enough of that."

He feels a little like he's scolding a two-year-old when Tig squirms in his arms, still trying to grab at Juice who's rubbing his neck. A closer inspection reveals that Juice's neck is bruised, much like the time the kid had tried to hang himself. It's purple, and this close up, Chibs can see the imprints of Tig's thumb and forefinger on either side of Juice's Adam's apple.

"What the fuck is going on with you two?" he asks when Tig finally stops struggling.

When it looks like Tig's about to make another go at Juice as soon as he loosens his hold on the other man, Chibs flashes back to his childhood fights with his siblings and has a new appreciation for his mother.

"Enough!" Another shake quells Tig's attempts to get away, but Chibs doesn't release him until the man blinks and seems to come to himself.

His quiet, "Let me go Chibs," is the all clear that Chibs has been waiting for, and Chibs lets go, careful to keep himself in between Tig and Juice lest they start up again.

"I ain't nothing like him," Tig says, shoving a finger into Juice's chest. "Nothing."

Juice is glaring at Tig, his nostrils flaring, and his jaw tense. "You're every bit as bad as him." The words aren't shouted, and Juice's voice breaks a little on the last two words, and his eyes shine just a little too much in the dim light of the hall.

"Okay, that's it."

Chibs grabs a hold of both men, marching them before him like two wayward children, and shoves them ahead of him into an empty room. Juice stumbles into Tig, but Chibs quickly places himself between the two of them before Tig can slug the younger man who looks to be on the verge of tears. Chibs doesn't know whether they're tears of anger or something else, but he doesn't care, because right now he's irritated with the both of them. Jax doesn't need to deal with this kind of shit happening in his club right now.

"Sit." He points to the bed, and Tig looks at him like he's out of his mind, but Juice, after sneaking a quick look at him, ducks his head and then sits at the end of the bed. "Both of you," Chibs says.

Tig clenches his jaw, but finally sits, turning his back to Juice.

"I don't know what the fuck's gotten into you two, and I really don't give a fuck, but whatever this is," Chibs pauses in his lecture to gesture between the two of them, "it stops here. Got it?"

Juice looks like he wants to protest, but nods his head when Chibs glares at him.

"Tig." Chibs inwardly groans when he realizes that he's channeling his mother. He can almost hear her voice in the words that are coming from him.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Tig says mulishly.

"Choking your brother is wrong." Chibs winces the minute he says it, and he can hear the ghost of his Mother chuckling at his choice of words. But the words are out and he can't take them back.

"Yes, mommy," Tig says around a self-satisfied smirk, "I pwomise I won't fight wif my wittle bwother no mwore."

Chibs wants to smack the grin off Tig's face, but he realizes that it would simply prolong the battle, and he's too tired to play another round of, 'keep Tig off Juice'. He chooses to ignore Tig's jibes and turns to look at Juice, whose eyes are trained on the floor.

"One of you two wanna tell me what's going on here?"

"Nothing's going on," Juice says, but he's not looking at him, and Chibs knows that it means the kid's trying to hide something. They both are. "Tig?"

"Like the kid says, nothing's going on; it was just a misunderstanding. Promise it won't happen again, Mom."

Juice makes a big deal of digging his phone out of his pocket and looking at the time. "Shit, I gotta go." He moves to stand, but Chibs pushes him back down onto the bed and ignores the flash of fear in Juice's eyes when he finally looks at him.

Chibs is not letting either man out of his sight until he gets to the bottom of whatever has them at each other's throats like a pair of fighting dogs.

"You're not going anywhere. Not until you've told me what's really going on, and who the hell Tony is."

Juice blanches at the mention of the name, and looks away. Tig's eyes are fixed on Juice, there's a mixture of some emotion in them that Chibs is sure he must be reading wrong, because Tig's always treated Juice like a nuisance.

"Tony's an asshole," Juice says tiredly. He sags back onto the bed, his eyes trained on Tig in a silent plea. It's clear to Chibs that there's something more than meets the eye going on here, and he almost wishes that he hadn't followed Juice from the shop.

Chibs sighs, runs a hand through his hair and just stares at the two men on the bed. "Care to elaborate?"

"He's a child molesting asshole," Tig says, his eyes not leaving Juice's, "and I'm not like that. I ain't him."

Chibs knows that there's something that neither man is saying. The reason that Juice accused Tig of being like Tony is still hanging in the air between them, and as much as he really just doesn't want to know what happened, because he might have to do something that he'd rather not have to, he _has_ to know. It's his duty.

And, he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that his stomach twisted a little at Tig's admission that this Tony character is a child molester. He'd known of a few of them in his neighborhood, had been warned by his mother and his buddies to avoid certain houses. He'd even watched, with sick fascination, as Mr. Greely, his next door neighbor who'd invited him over for tea once, was carted off by the police when Bobby Malone went missing. The ten year old boy was found dead days later, sodomized and cut open, guts spilling everywhere, and half-eaten by vermin.

He shivers a little at the memory, but is quickly brought back to the present when Juice stands abruptly and slugs Tig, sending the other man sprawling. But, he doesn't stop there, he continues to pummel Tig with his fists, straddling him, and it takes Chibs far too long to subdue the younger man. In the end, he takes a couple of elbows to the eye and the gut, and he has to practically choke Juice, and then pin him down on the floor with the full weight of his body once he's finally gotten him off of Tig.

Juice struggles, cursing him until his voice goes hoarse, and then he just stills, body going slack beneath Chibs', breaths coming out in harsh, gasping wheezes, as though he's just been saved from drowning. Chibs doesn't let him go, though. Instead, he presses down harder, making sure that Juice is good and immobilized. He uses one hand like a vice around Juice's wrists, fixing the younger man's arms securely behind his back so that he can't wriggle free and strike out again.

Chibs' left eye's throbbing, and his gut feels tender from where Juice's elbow had dug into it more than once. He knows that he's going to have a black eye, and his nose feels like it might be broken. Chibs is thankful that it's not bleeding.

Juice is lying prone on his stomach, his head's twisted toward the left, and he's breathing heavily in and out through his mouth. Chibs is straddling his hips, sitting on Juice's ass, using his lower body to keep Juice restrained. Chibs is winded, and he turns his head to look at Tig, to see what kind of damage Juice did to him. He also needs to assess the situation, see just how pissed off Tig is, and whether or not he needs to call on Bobby or Jax for help, because he's not up to a third round of this.

Tig's face is bruised and bloody – his lip's split, there's a cut beneath his left eye, and it looks like his nose might be broken – but he doesn't look angry. If anything, he looks resigned, and worried. His eyes don't leave Juice, even though he's mopping at his bloody nose with the edge of a bed sheet.

"One of you had better tell me what the fuck is going on," Chibs says and he shifts a little, just to let Juice know that he isn't going anywhere, even though the younger man hasn't so much as twitched since he'd gone limp beneath him. "Right now." He emphasizes his words by adding pressure to the back of Juice's neck with his free hand, until there's a hitch in Juice's breathing.

There's a part of his brain, the logical part, that tells him to back off a little, but he's spitting mad and his stomach and face fucking ache from stopping Juice's unprovoked attack on Tig. He doesn't let up until Juice's breaths start making a whistling sound, and then it's only to release the hold that he has on the back of the man's neck.

"I talked Juice into giving me a blowjob," Tig says, "on our extended road trip. Thought he was okay with it."

Chibs shakes his head, and yanks a little on Juice's arms, pulling them up until he can feel resistance, and Juice whimpers.

"That true?"

"Y…yes," Juice rasps. "Lemme go." He squirms, tugging his arms, but Chibs' grip around the younger man's wrists is solid, and bruising, and he jerks on Juice's arms until he stops attempting to escape.

"You two are fucking morons, you know that?" Chibs loosens his hold on Juice, not enough to set him free, but enough so that he's no longer cutting off blood-circulation. "Keep that kind of shit to yourselves, and for fuck's sake get yourself together Juicy. Y'r falling apart at the seams. I'd've never known something was wrong if you hadn't been moping around like someone killed your favorite pussy."

He shoves the whole thing about Tony to the back of his mind, hoping that maybe he hadn't been an integral part of all of this, even though he knows that, at best, it's wishful thinking on his part. Chibs' gut churns when he thinks about Bobby Malone, the boy's dirt-streaked, tear-stained face is forever etched in his memory.

"Lemme go," Juice repeats, "please," he adds.

"Not until you promise that you ain't going to go all bat shit crazy again." Chibs isn't about to let Juice go until he knows for certain that the younger man is under control of himself, because he knows that he won't be able to do this again. He's too fucking old for this, they all are.

"I promise, just," Juice's voice is strained, and quiet, "let me go. Let me go, Chibs." There's an edge of panic in Juice's voice that Chibs chooses to ignore when the younger man starts to twist and fidget to get free.

"Stop struggling." Chibs' words only seem to make Juice's movements more frantic, and he counters by adding more pressure, because he doesn't know what else to do.

"Lemme up, please, just lemme go, I promise I won't fight you anymore," the words are almost too soft to hear, and the childish tone of Juice's voice makes Chibs' blood run cold.

"Not until someone tells me what Tony has to do with all of this." Chibs is adamant. He wants to get all of the answers before he lets Juice go, because he knows he won't get anything else out of either Juice or Tig once the tension is gone.

"Let him up," Tig says when Juice's struggles kick up a notch, and his pleas for release become a running mantra little louder than a stilted murmur.

Chibs doesn't know what to do, because he's never been in a situation like this before, and Juice doesn't sound anything like Juice – neither the happy-go-lucky, nor depressed version of Juice that he's familiar with. He sounds like a fucking kid. Like he's no more than eight, maybe ten years old, and he's gone from struggling to free himself to trembling beneath Chibs' hold on him.

"I said, let him go."

Chibs doesn't know when Tig moved from the bed to crouch before him and Juice, but he doesn't protest when Tig pulls at his arms, and pushes him off of Juice who is now openly sobbing and begging to be set free. Tig's nose has stopped bleeding, but blood is still trickling from the cut below his eye, and the bruises on his face are more pronounced. His face is a puffed and blotchy mess of dried blood and purplish black bruises.

With more gentleness and grace than Chibs has ever seen Tig display in interactions with anyone other than his daughters and Gemma, he pulls Juice to himself and shields the younger man from Chibs. Tig then does something that Chibs doesn't think he'll ever believe having witness, he sits on the floor and cradles Juice in his arms and starts rocking him.

He's whispering something in Juice's ear that is too low for Chibs to hear, and stroking Juice's Mohawk. Tig pauses in whatever it is that he's been saying to Juice who is still muttering broken entreaties which promise that he'll be good, that he won't fight back, that he won't say anything. He catches Chibs' eye over Juice's head, and raises a finger to his lips when Chibs opens his mouth to say something.

"Shh, Juice, it's okay," Tig says. "You're safe, come on, let's get you in bed, okay?"

"No." It sounds like the word is torn from the back of Juice's throat, and the muttering is replaced with a horrible keening sound that makes the hairs on Chibs' arms stand up.

Tig just holds Juice tighter and resumes his whispered words of comfort. He casts Chibs a scathing look, and starts to rub Juice's back. It seems like an eternity passes before Juice's gut-wrenching cries subside, and an almost oppressive silence settles in around them.

"What the hell happened?" Chibs is at a loss. He doesn't understand how Juice went from a homicidal maniac to a frightened, blathering childlike man in the matter of a few minutes.

"You should've let him go," Tig says, his blue eyes glittering in the darkness of the room. The sun is their only source of light, and it's coming in through a gap in the dusty curtains; even the sun doesn't seem to want to breach the somber atmosphere that has descended over the three of them.

Chibs scrubs a hand over his face and sits so that his back is against the metal bedframe. "Tell me what happened on your road trip, and don't try to bullshit me."

Juice's head is now resting in the crook of Tig's neck, and his eyes are slipping closed. Tig jerks his chin toward the bed and raises his eyebrows in an unspoken request for help. Sighing, Chibs rises and works the kinks out of his joints before aiding Tig in moving the now sleeping Juice to the bed. In tandem, they silently tuck Juice into bed, before lying down beside him – both of them flanking Juice on either side.

Once they settle, Tig pushes up on his elbows and pierces Chibs with a calculated look. "You gotta promise that you won't go to Jax with this."

Chibs shakes his head. He can't promise something like that. Lies beget lies, and have a way of worming their way to the surface and making matters worse.

Tig lies back down, turns on his side so that he's facing Juice, and the look on his face is something that Chibs cannot read. Tig traces one of Juice's tattoos with an index finger, and frowns.

"I was just trying to get a rise out of the kid, you know, to make the trip feel shorter than it was," he says, and when his eyes meet Chibs' over Juice, there's no mistaking the guilt that shadows them. "I said some shit about how he probably got paid to suck old men off. We went to a bar, tossed back a few. I guess Juice was a little more wasted than I was; he offered to suck me off, and I let him." Chibs doesn't miss the subtle movement, even in the darkening room, when Tig's hand moves to readjust his jeans around his crotch. It makes Chibs feel sick, but he doesn't interrupt.

Tig starts tracing another of Juice's tattoos, and Chibs finds it oddly soothing. "It wasn't until afterwards that the kid told me about Tony. He had a nightmare; think he thought I was Tony. The fucker lived with Juice and his mother for two years before she kicked him out because she caught them together."

"Fuck." It's the only thing that Chibs can think to say, because there isn't anything else that fits.

"Yeah. Fuck." Tig's finger stops on some loopy part of the tattoo he's focused on, lingers there, and then he pulls away from Juice. "I'm an inconsiderate ass, and, I'm reconciled to that fact, but I ain't like that."

"You've been trying to get Tony's whereabouts out of Juice?"

"Fucker needs to die."

Chibs finds himself nodding in agreement. His eyes darken as he pictures Juice, aged ten, all arms and legs, awkward as all fuck, stumbling over his own two feet, and Tony, who looks, unsurprisingly, like Mr. Geely, panting and sweating on top of the kid, his adult weight smothering the much smaller kid. And then Chibs gets it, and he blanches as he realizes why Juice freaked out when he'd pinned him down.

"Aye, he does." Chibs' mind is made up, and no, Jax won't be hearing about this.

"Just gotta get the kid to talk," Tig says.

"You certain he knows where this Tony is?" Chibs' fingers are itching to touch Juice, just as Tig had, but he isn't Tig, and he isn't sure that Juice would welcome his touch just now, even in sleep, not after what he'd done to restrain the younger man when Juice had attacked Tig.

"Yeah, caught him looking at one of those whatchacallit things they put on the net so you can look up the perverts in your neighborhood, but he closed it soon's he saw me."

"Shit," Chibs says, knowing that none of this is going to be easy, but that he can't back out of it now that he knows what happened to Juice when he was just a kid. Innocent and vulnerable, and no doubt cute.

"I just don't understand how he can be so fucking happy all the damn time," Tig says, and his fingers flicker along the bruises adorning Juice's neck.

"He ain't," Chibs says, and he gives into the urge to touch, letting his fingers ghost along the edge of Juice's jaw, to his lips…

And then he finds himself smoothing out the furrows in Juice's brow when the younger man's breath hitches and he starts to thrash around. Tig starts to stroke Juice's face, once more murmuring words to Juice that Chibs cannot hear. Between the both of them, they manage to soothe Juice back to a more peaceful state of sleep.

"Think it's been like this for him since we…" Tig trails off, and it isn't at all like the man to be so hesitant, "since I fucked him."

"'S not your fault," Chibs says, "drinking ain't no excuse, Juice knew what he was getting himself into when he came on to you."

"I ain't so sure." Tig's voice is thick with regret.

Chibs lets out a breath. "Ain't no use second-guessing it. What's done is done."

Chibs can't even pretend to understand what Juice went through when he was a kid. He doesn't really want to, but Juice isn't ten or however the fuck old he was when Tony was molesting him, he's a grown man, able to make his own decisions, and Chibs knows that whatever went down between Tig and Juice, that the former Sergeant at Arms did not force himself on Juice.

Tig rolls onto his side, tosses an arm across Juice's chest in a sort of half-embrace that seems strangely natural to Chibs.

"I won't rest easy until I know that Tony's dead, and that he can't hurt anyone else like he hurt Juice. No man that does that kind of thing to a kid deserves to live."

Chibs agrees; he just doesn't know how either of them is going to get Juice to talk. The boy can be stubborn as a mule and tight-lipped when he wants to be.

"Getting him to talk's not goin' t' be easy," Chibs says.

"Kid'll talk to you," Tig says around a yawn, and there's so much confidence in his voice that Chibs almost believes him.

The sun's no longer peeking in at them through the window, and Juice's body is warm next to his, even through the covers. Chibs can hear when Tig drifts off to sleep – the man's breathing evens out and he starts to snore lightly. Chibs doesn't fight it when his eyelids start to close; he shifts around, his own arm finding its way across Juice's stomach, and his hand resting on Tig's thigh.

He falls asleep, thinking about what he's going to have to do to get Juice to tell him what he knows about Tony. Because, one way or another, that man is going to die.

 


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice just wants to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably goes without saying, but this is AU.
> 
> Mentions child abuse of a sexual nature, and repercussions for adults who are living with the memories of it. There is no graphic depiction of abuse in this chapter, nor will there be any in subsequent chapters.

Juice wakes, gasping for air, choking on something that he can't remember as the familiar, yet hazy nightmare, fades away.

It's black as pitch. He doesn't remember falling asleep, doesn't know what woke him, other than the nightmare that he can never fully recall. It's always cloaked in shifting shadows – like meaty hands groping him in the dark.

He doesn't know where he is, or the bed he's in, and what's worse is that he's not alone. He's sandwiched in between two other men, and he has no memory of how that happened.

Juice doesn't immediately recognize the owner of the arm that's draped over his, or the other man whose leg is pinning him to the bed, trapping him.

His head swims and his stomach rebels. He's sick to his stomach, and his heart is beating so fast that it feels like it's going to explode.

Panic burns a fiery trail up the back of his throat, and he has to get out, escape, but the arm and leg are heavy, and he's afraid that moving them will wake his unknown bed companions. This has happened to him before – blacking out, waking up in a stranger's bed, not knowing how he got there, what they did together.

Like that night with Tig, when he'd spilled his guts about Tony, except, that was one night that he couldn't seem to forget, no matter how hard he tried. Of course it didn't help that Tig wouldn't let him forget it, and the man wouldn't stop _apologizing_ for the part of the night that Juice honestly can't remember – giving the man a blowjob.

He still can't believe that he actually gave into Tig's half-hearted request, and doesn't understand why Tig would feel anything resembling regret over it. Neither of them could change what had happened. Most of the time, the men that Juice had been with – whether he remembered it or not – had regretted nothing. They'd been more than satisfied. Maybe he'd fucked something up with Tig – been too drunk, spit when he should've sucked, had too dry a mouth, or . . .?

Juice wonders who he wound up in bed with tonight, how it happened, what he did, what _they_ did to him. The panic slowly ebbs with the familiarity of the situation. He's woken up like this countless times before. When his companions wake, he'll smile, nod and wave and then take his leave with an empty promise of maybe getting together again sometime.

Juice hopes that he's outside of Charming, that no one at the club has witnessed whatever the hell had led to this. He'd thought that he had it under control; it had been years since he'd last blacked out, but then there was Tig, and now this.

The panic surges once again, a tight ball in the pit of his stomach, and he blames Tig for the renewed sense of fear and loss of self-control that he's feeling. If the man would let what Juice had drunkenly told him (another thing he cannot fully recall having done) about Tony go, then Juice is certain that he'd be right as rain.

There's a groan and the arm shifts across his chest, pulling him closer, like a teddy bear. Juice holds his breath, his heart pounds frantically, and he tamps down on the inside of his lips to keep from crying out. _I need to get out of here,_ he thinks, _before they wake up._ An impossible task now that one of the guys has a tight grip on him.

"Juice?" the tired sounding voice is followed up with a yawn, and the person pinning his legs shifts a little. The man's knee digs into Juice's groin, and it's then that Juice realizes that he's fully clothed.

Juice digs his heels into the mattress and stifles his grunt of pain, waiting for the unwelcome pressure on his groin to be removed. There's another shift, another arm tossed over him, and to his utter relief, the knee is gone, but he's now being, in effect, hugged by his bed partners. He's trapped.

"Whassa matter?" the voice asks.

The man's lips brush against Juice's ear, making him shiver, and Juice's skin runs cold. The overwhelming thought of escape causes him to push at the arms, and he shoves with all of his might, but it gets him nowhere. If anything, the arms only tighten around him more.

"Let me go," Juice's voice is barely a whisper.

The words stick in his throat, and he can't seem to push them around the throbbing of his heart which feels like it's trying to pound its way out of his mouth. He pushes again, the arms tighten, the bodies move closer, and the nightmare returns, except it isn't a nightmare anymore.

"Get off," Juice's voice cracks, his breath hitches, and he's seeing white and black splotches that block his vision.

One of the men seems to rouse, though Juice's words weren't spoken very loudly, in spite of the fact that he'd meant to yell them. There's ringing in his ears, and he can't breathe, can't see and the men are starting to wake, and Juice can't move. He's frozen. Terror grips his heart with icy fingers, and leaves him unable to breathe.

"Juice?"

The bed shifts.

"You alright?"

 _No_. "Yes." It's an obedient murmur. He's always alright. Always. Always. Always. It's never okay not to be alright.

"Fuck, shit, sorry," the voice says, and then the arm's gone, and Juice can kind of breathe again.

"You okay, man?"

Blue eyes are suddenly in his line of vision, and Juice blinks up at them. He recognizes the eyes, but the name that goes with them doesn't immediately come to him. The man frowns and then grabs the other arm that's sprawled across him and yanks it loose. Juice's eyes widen in horror when the man the arm's attached to sputters awake with a loud, "What the fuck?"

And with that abrupt awakening, Juice recognizes, not only the owner of the blue eyes, but also the owner of the loud, unhappy voice. A new horror strikes him as he realizes that he's in bed with Tig and the new Sergeant-at-Arms, Chibs.

Humiliation doesn't even begin to cover what he's feeling now. He quickly runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, the inside of his cheeks, and is only mildly relieved when he doesn't taste the distinctive, overly salty tang of cum. His hands, chest, face don't feel sticky or itchy. His ass isn't aching.

 _Nothing happened,_ he thinks, and breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Move over, would you?" Tig says crossly.

"What time is it?" Chibs ignores Tig's command completely.

He reaches over Juice to snag Tig's wrist, and, only belatedly realizes that Tig isn't wearing a watch. He lets the other man's arm drop, and then rolls onto his back.

Now completely free of the constricting arms, Juice sits up straight in bed and takes in one lungful of air, and then another. He's still shaking, and his head's spinning, but some of his anxiety's gone.

"What the…"

Chibs' oath is cut off by Tig's, "Hey, Juice, it's okay."

Juice shrugs off the arm that Tig tosses over his shoulder. He really doesn't want to be touched right now, even though he knows that Tig is only trying to offer him some comfort. Which is odd in and of itself – Tig, comforting him.

"I'm fine," Juice says; the words automatic.

"You're trembling," Chibs observes, and he moves to offer some warmth, but Juice skitters toward the headboard and shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he repeats. _Don't touch me,_ he screams in his head.

"O . . .kay." Chibs runs a hand through his hair, and exchanges a look with Tig. Juice watches Tig shake his head slightly, and he wonders just when the other man became such an expert on reading him.

xxx

"I'm fine."

"Okay, I think that we've established that you're fine," Chibs says, and it sounds to Juice like the man thinks that he's completely out of his mind, or nearly there.

"I'm fine," Juice says the words again, knowing how crazy he must sound. But the words seem to be stuck on repeat in his head, and he can't seem to make them stop.

"I'm fine."

He can feel himself rocking – knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them – and he hates himself for it. Hates how weak it makes him look. How vulnerable.

"Fine."

"What happened?" Tig asks, quietly interrupting his mantra. "You have a nightmare?"

Juice shrugs, nods, looks away.

"Look, about what happened earlier. . ." Chibs scratches his head, swipes a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. I…"

"It's okay," Juice says. He can't remember what happened earlier, doesn't know what the hell Chibs is talking about. "I'm fine. It's no big deal."

He's used to this part – the lying, pretending he knows what Bob or Dick or Harry or some nameless, faceless fuck has done or said to him.

Chibs sighs, shares another look with Tig, who nods, and then the man settles his gaze on Juice. "Tell us about Tony."

Juice feels like the air's been sucked right out of him, and he gives Tig a dirty look. Tig isn't even looking at him, though.

"I told you, I'm fine." Juice stops his rocking and levels a glare at Chibs. "I don't know any Tony."

Tig's eyes snap up to meet his, and he narrows them at Juice.

"That's what you called me the other night when…" Tig gestures between them, "you know."

He looks away again, and starts picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

"You had a nightmare, said some things." Tig's eyes are once more on him – accusing him, judging him.

Juice huffs and shakes his head. He can feel the threat of tears, and he prays that they don't fall. This is nothing like coming clean to Chibs about his father being black, or telling Jax about what he did, how he'd betrayed the club.

This is something far worse (he'd thought things really couldn't get much worse, he was wrong). This is something which marks him, not as traitor, but as damaged goods, unclean. A fag. Though what he'd done hadn't exactly been his choice, the guys wouldn't understand. How could they? How could explain the blackouts, the nightmares that he couldn't ever remember, or the times he woke up in some stranger's bed without a clue as to he'd got there?

"It was a nightmare," Juice says, trying to laugh it off, but his laugh comes out strangled and wet, sounding like he's drowning. "People say all kind of shit that ain't true during a nightmare."

"It weren't no regular nightmare," Tig says, and there's no mistaking the anger in his voice.

Juice rubs at his scalp, ignores the way his hand trembles, hopes the guys don't notice it in the dark. "Look, I'm fine." He needs to shave soon. "I just woke up, got a little spooked 'cause I forgot where I was, that's all."

"That happen a lot?" Chibs asks keenly. "Forget where you bed down at night?"

Juice frowns and shrugs. He shakes his head, because, really, what the hell does it matter? And what the fuck is Chibs playing at? The man can't possibly know about his lapses in memory, and it's not like he gives a rat's ass about him anyway. The man's been cold as ice toward him, and honestly, Juice can't blame him.

"Not really." He decides to play it cool, and hopes that Chibs won't call his bluff. "I was just…"

"Cut the crap, Juice." Chibs' voice is hard, and he lays a hand on Juice's knee. He ignores the subsequent flinch, and keeps his hand firmly in place, even when Juice squirms under the touch.

"Why can't you just leave this alone? I'm fine, and it doesn't matter, anyway." His words trail off at the end, and his breath hitches, and it's no longer Chibs' hand on his knee, but Tony's, and he's feeling sick and scared and trapped.

"Juice." Chibs shakes his knee. "You with me? You ain't gonna freak out like you did earlier, are ya?"

"Earlier?" Juice echoes. His ears are ringing, and he really doesn't know where he is right now.

"Shit, I asked you to talk to him, not freak him out." Tig's voice registers to Juice, but it sounds like it's coming from another room.

"'S'not like there's a handbook on this sort of thing."

"Yeah, well, you broke him, again."

A hand descends on Juice's shoulder, and he whimpers and tries to pull away.

"Juice, hey, c'mon, it's just Chibs and Tig. We ain't gonna hurt you." Tig's voice is quiet, close.

"But you've got to tell us what's going on." Chibs' words are harsh, hard, and immoveable.

"I'm fine." He's freezing cold, like someone's spilled a bucket of ice water over his head. "I'm fine."

"The hell ya are."

Fingers dig into Juice's knee, and he does the only thing he can think to do. He grabs at the wrist, wrenches it free and then twists it as hard as he can, bending the hand back toward the man's forearm. He's aiming to break the wrist, make it so that the bastard won't be able to hurt him again.

"Ouch, fuck." Chibs' voice, pained and loud in his ear stops him, but Juice doesn't let go of the wrist, though he does ease up some on the pressure. His head swivels toward the sound of the voice, and it isn't Tony sitting there in the darkened room with him, it's Chibs. A quick glance down to the wrist that he's still got a firm grip on, confirms that it really isn't Tony trying to grope him in his sleep.

"Shit, Juice, let go."

Juice doesn't resist when Tig pries his finger off of Chibs' wrist. He sags back against the headboard and hugs his knees to himself.

"Sorry."

 _Apologies are for babies_ ; Tony's voice reverberates through his mind. _Shut the fuck up and quit your crying. I'm only doing this because I love you, even though you ain't mine. Gotta make you understand. Gotta show you what real love is._

"Sorry."

"Juice, what're you sorry for?" Chibs' voice breaks through Tony's, and Juice raises his head.

He blinks and Tony disappears entirely. It's just Chibs and Tig in the room, and the red numbers on the bedside alarm clock show that it's two-thirty in the morning.

"Sorry for waking you up."

"Juice." Chibs sounds tired. "Can you tell me about Tony?"

Juice shakes his head. He isn't supposed to talk about Tony. Doesn't _want_ to talk about Tony.

Tig nudges him. "We're just trying to help you."

Anger, sudden and uncontrollable, flares up, and Juice stops his rocking, though he doesn't loosen his grip on his knees. He glares, first at Tig, then at Chibs, and then he stares at the foot of the bed.

"What do you want to know?" Juice hugs himself tighter. "How much Tony loved me? Or how often he showed me that he loved me? Or how he'd sneak into my room at night, once mom was asleep, and, and . . . touch me, and, and do other things to me? How he'd threaten to kill me or my mom, or my little sisters if I said anything? How I made him do it? How . . . how sometimes I blackout and, and wake up in some stranger's bed without a clue how the fuck I got there? How, no matter. . ." Juice buries his head in his knees, "no matter how many times I cleanse myself, I'm never really clean? How I can't stand to be touched, but I can't say no? How I'm broken and fucked up and . . ."

"Where is Tony now?" Chibs cuts him off, and though the tips of his fingers barely touch Juice's his ankle, it helps to ground him.

"They want me to testify against him," Juice says. "Some," he swallows, "some kid came forward, and, I don't know how they traced Tony back to me, but the police called the other day, and they want me to go to New York and tell the District Attorney what happened."

The tears come before he can stop them, and Juice grimaces and wipes them away with the back of his hands.

"So, that's what you were looking at the other day," Tig says slowly.

Juice nods and sniffs. He grins, or tries to, but it falls flat. "I was fine. I'd put Tony behind me, and was moving on with my life. I was fine."

"But then I fucked it all up," Tig says.

"What? No," Juice is quick to assure the other man.

"So, what're you going to do?" Chibs asks.

Juice takes a shuddery breath and shrugs. "I don't want to go back. I just want to forget it ever happened."

"Except it did happen," Chibs says, his voice is steely, but not unkind. "And you're fucked up because of it."

"The fuck you know about it?" Anger flares in Juice's gut, burns a hole there.

"Just that you've been walking around, pretending life is all ponies and daisies, and looking at everything through fucking rose-colored glasses," Chibs says angrily, "except that ain't the reality. Is it?"

"I was doing just fine," Juice says. The tears have disappeared, and now he feels indignant.

"So you say, and yet you attacked me, you put your mouth on that one's dick." Chibs gestures at Tig. "And you're . . ."

"That's enough, Chibs," Tig says.

"Is it?"

"Just, stop." Tig holds a hand up to forestall any further argument from Chibs who clamps his mouth shut so tightly that his lips look almost white.

Juice smiles ruefully and hangs his head. "No, he's right."

Juice had known that something like this was going to happen. That, if his sordid past ever saw the light of day, he would no longer be welcome, that he'd be seen as some kind of sexual deviant, and not of Tig's caliber. Tig, after all, had sway with the club. He'd been around far longer than Juice, and, as far as Juice knew, the man had never betrayed the club, had never tried to kill himself either. Tig was accepted, with all of his strange sexual proclivities, because Tig was Tig. He was somebody. He was a legend. Juice was nobody.

"I'll just get out of your hair," Juice says.

His smile's so wide that it hurts his cheeks. He tries to untangle himself so that he can leave, but then two sets of hands are on him, pushing him back, and he forces the panic away when it tries to rear its ugly head again.

"Juice, just slow down a minute," Chibs says, "look, it's late, early, whatever, and it's been a rough night. I think we all just need to calm down a little and . . ."

"It's not like the light of day is going to make me any less of a fag," Juice says.

Tig shakes his head, places his hands on either side of Juice's face and looks him straight in the eye. "Rape has nothing to do with sex, you know that, right? What that asshole did to you, that don't make you gay or whatever. Ain't no one here gonna judge you because of what he did."

Juice laughs. It's a hollow, awful sounding thing.

"Just 'cause they don't judge you, doesn't mean they ain't gonna judge me," Juice says. "I am good for one thing around here, and people like me are a dime a dozen nowadays. Once Jax hears about this . . ."

"Jax ain't gonna hear about this unless you tell him," Tig says, and Chibs nods.

"Look, Juice," Chibs says, and he places a hand on the back of Juice's neck. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to you, for being so hard on you, but I'm not sorry that you told me, and I'm not going to betray your confidence. Whatever you decide to do about this thing with Tony, I'll back you up."

"Me too," Tig says.

Juice searches their eyes, tries, but fails to see any deception in them.

"Promise?" he asks, wincing at how small and young he sounds.

"Just promise me that you'll stay put tonight, and that you won't try to pretend like everything's okay when it's not," Chibs says.

Juice nods.

"And another thing," Tig says, Juice meets his eyes. "If you decide to go to New York to testify against this fucker, I'll be going with you."

"Me too."

"You're not going to face this alone. Not anymore," Tig says, and he places his lips against Juice's forehead, and kisses him.

"But. . ." Juice protests.

"This kind of shit's what brothers are for," Chibs says, hugging him. "You shouldn't have had to live with this by yourself for so long."

It takes a little more coaxing, and convincing on Tig's and Chibs' part, but, by the time he's lying down again, sleep pulling at his eyelids, Juice thinks like maybe, with the help of his brothers, he can do this – face the demons of his past, and do what is necessary to bring Tony to justice.

 


	4. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice feels like he's mismatched pieces from half a dozen jigsaw puzzles. He doesn't quite fit together anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea if anyone is even reading this one anymore. It has been awhile. This past month, the only thing I could write was poetry (which I'm not complaining about). This may read 'poetically' and does not follow any particular writing style guide out there. I am playing with words and conventions. I don't even know if this fits this story...hoping that it does. There is a lot of deliberate repetition, and undoubtedly poor grammar in a number of places. Poetry does that. This was written with the Cotton Candy Bingo prompt - skinny dipping - in mind. It's not very fluffy until the end.

Juice doesn't realize that he's not wearing any clothes until he feels a body pressed up against his, arms seeking to hold him, wrapping around him from behind. He doesn't fight them, doesn't protest the hardness that pokes into the outer edge of his thigh.

His head's above water. He keeps it there, even when warm breath bursts out over his collarbone, making him shiver.

Hands grip him tightly, fingertips touch sensitive skin; make him hold his breath and squeeze his eyes shut against the memories that touch – any touch – elicits.

Sweat.

Stench.

Pain.

The memory of being stretched out into nothingness – molecules of air too thin to breathe – like a balloon about to pop.

And it doesn't stop there.

He drags in a ragged breath, sputtering, choking on chlorine, because he swallows when he should've spit.

He knows better than to do that.

He's been taught the art of swallowing.

Wait until it's over.

Turn your head, and _then_ spit.

He knows better.

_Knows better!_

_No._

"Hey, take it easy," words spoken breathily into his ear, make Juice swallow a one worded protest.

His lungs are filled with cement.

He's drowning, though his head's above the water – the cold, night air is a cloak that engulfs him in its inky darkness.

The hardness shifts until he can no longer feel it. Relief floods him.

Cool water spools his body like gentle, groping fingers, caressing, lifting, lifting, lifting.

Hands – strong, solid, sturdy – grip his own.

He's numb, can't grab hold of the salvation offered him.

And he's slipping.

Sinking.

Drowning in a pool of regrets.

He laughs.

_I'm a fucking poet_ , he thinks, maybe says aloud, swallows water that decides to tickle and tease a spasm from his lungs.

"Shit, grab him."

"What the fuck you think I'm trying to do?"

And he recognizes that voice.

_Chibs_ , his mind sluggishly supplies.

It's Tig holding him, pushing him, shoving him toward the pool's edge, and Chibs, when all he wants to do is drown. It had been Tig's dick digging into his backside moments ago.

"C'mon, Juice," Chibs says. "Give us a little help here."

"Thought water was supposed to make people weigh less," Tig grunts, and Juice shoves backward, away from the edge of the pool, or at least he tries to.

He doesn't want to be saved.

"Just gives 'em buoyancy," Chibs' voice is a beacon that Juice shies away from.

"Fucking asshole," Tig breathes out the warning against Juice's cheek when he struggles to get away, and Juice stills.

He's already swallowed Tig's dick once. Tasted the man's come. It had felt a lot like this – like suffocating. Had tasted nothing like the chlorinated water he's consumed.

"Grab him," Tig says, hands beneath Juice's armpits, hoisting him up, out of the water.

Other hands – warm, dry, rough – clutch him, lift him, drag him from the water and wrap him in a towel.

"Fuck," Chibs' voice comes to him through a tunnel, and Juice wonders why the man's lips are twisted.

"Tired," he manages to push the single word out past his lips.

The sound of splashing, followed by a grunt, accompanies the surreal feeling that he's floating, though he's fairly certain he's no longer in the water.

No longer swimming.

No longer drowning.

No longer remembering things that he doesn't want to remember, because the drugs have finally kicked in, and he's become the water he sought escape in.

It's peaceful.

And he's floating, carried by a man stronger than he can ever hope to be.

"He gonna be okay?" Tig's voice trails behind them, and Juice wishes he could open his eyes, see the look on the other mans' face, because he thinks, but isn't sure, that he can hear something like concern tingeing the man's voice.

It's laughable.

Tig doesn't do concerned.

"He will be," Chibs says it like it's a certainty, but he's no Nostradamus, and Juice's head is spinning.

"Good," Tig's voice is strained, and Juice wonders why.

"We need to get him warmed up."

He's already warm, though. Doesn't need the added warmth that Chibs is suggesting.

"Warm," he says, or at least he thinks he says it. Isn't sure, because he's ignored.

"You got him?" Chibs' words make no sense to Juice until he feels Tig grab hold of him, hears the pounding rhythm of the shower, and feels the heat of water engulf him like flames as he's handed off.

It tastes coppery and fresh, like a mouthful of pennies. He chokes and sputters and opens his eyes. Tig's holding him, straining to keep him upright.

"Stand still," he warns.

Juice complies, stays beneath the thawing spray; lets Tig wash him. There's nothing intimate about any of it. Rough, almost abrasive strokes with the washcloth take away a chill Juice hadn't even realized was there; leave a tingling sensation in their wake.

It almost hurts, and Juice wishes that it did. That it would hurt enough to tear his mind away from the memories that the drugs he's taken have failed to wipe away.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Tig mutters.

Juice keeps his mouth shut.

He hadn't been thinking anything in particular.

Had been drowning in too many thoughts that he couldn't piece together. Like mismatched puzzle pieces from half a dozen puzzles.

Nothing about him fits together anymore.

He's broken.

Tig shakes his head, and the water shuts off. He's wrapped in a towel, pulled from the shower, and he's floating again. Carried out to a bed.

_Hotel_ , he remembers. _On the way to New York._

He doesn't want to go. Doesn't want to face the past he's left behind.

Doesn't want to lie down.

Doesn't want the covers pulled up to his chin. Wants to go back out to the pool and let the water take him away from everything.

"Stay on your side," Chibs says, and there's a hand on his shoulder, making it impossible for Juice to disobey.

The bed dips, and he's sandwiched. Tig's body is a wall of warmth behind him; Chibs' is like brick – solid and impenetrable. Nothing will get to him through them.

"Sleep," Chibs urges, reaching out, resting a hand on Juice's shoulder.

Tig tosses a hand on his hip.

They're like anchors, holding him down, these two men, keeping him from floating out into waters too deep for him to handle on his own.

His eyelids flutter. Chibs' face swims in and out of focus, and Tig's breath is warm against the back of his neck.

"Close your eyes, Juice," Chibs says, thumb rubbing a pattern across his collarbone. "Don't fight it."

He's tired of fighting.

Tired of floating.

Tired of trying so damn hard to drown himself.

He closes his eyes.

Surrenders.

Lets Chibs and Tig hold him together for now. Just until he can manage to do it himself.


End file.
